classic poetry
La Vendimia / The Harvest
POSTED IN classic poetry, Spring, translated Spanish-English May 4, 2018
La Vendimia / The HarvestEn un campo árido, reseco, muerto
puse gotas de ilusiones para regar
esforzando los corazones y cuerpos
hasta poder nuestro amor cosechar.En el mercado de corazones
fui una vez a participar en subasta,
aposte allí todas mis ilusiones
y llegué a tu amor de manera exacta.El amor recién descubierto
he guardado como tesoro
en el pecho, para ti abierto
como cofrecito color de oro
Embargado de dicha, pleno
te confieso mi sentimiento
de amor limpio y sereno
en el alma y pensamiento
a pesar de mi pobreza
te ofrezco mi único tesoro
lleno de amor con realeza
El cofrecito color de oroRecolectando,
mis ilusiones
guarde mis ansias
por encontrarte;
y en la subasta de
mis tristezas
encontre los frutos
de nuestro amorLa Vendimia que hoy honramos
a fuerza de amor y dulzura,
recoge el verde de las uvas
en las mieles del te quiero.
La tierra fértil abonadas con amor
ha sembrado con las aguas de pasión
que han sido fecundadas con fuego
que ha cosechado el corazón.Entonces todo las pasiones entregadas
hicieron suma para la tierra abonarla
con semillas puras de amor endulzadas
consagrando un planta para adorarla.Subaste mi amor con tus besos
los cuales siempre me diste
te entregue mi amor por completo
sin pensar que serias mi comprador absoluto.nuestro amor es dulce como la uva madura, que se recoge y con la cual se hace el mejor vino, nuestra relacion fue cosechada en el mejor tiempo, nuestro amor da muchos frutos por la intensidad con que nos amamos.
Ha concluido el esfuerzo de ambos
la consagración nos ha premiado
la vendimia del amor demostrado
resulto el eden hilando nuestro lazos.Vito Angeli
……………………………………………….The Harvest
In an arid, parched, dead field
I put drops of illusions to water
straining hearts and bodies
until our love can harvest.In the market of hearts
I went once to participate in auction,
bet there all my illusions
and I got to your love exactly.The newly discovered love
I have saved as treasure
in the chest, for you open
as a gold colored casket
Embargoed of happiness, fully
I confess my feeling
of clean and serene love
in the soul and thought
despite my poverty
I offer you my only treasure
full of love with royalty
The gold-colored casketCollecting,
My illusions
save my cravings
to find you;
and in the auction of
my sorrows
I found the fruits
of our loveThe harvest that we honor today
by force of love and sweetness,
pick up the green of the grapes
in the honey of I love you.
The fertile soil fertilized with love
has sown with the waters of passion
that have been fertilized with fire
who has harvested the heartThen all the passions delivered
they made money for the land
with pure seeds of sweetness sweetened
consecrating a plant to worship it.You raised my love with your kisses
which you always gave me
I give you my love completely
without thinking that you would be my absolute buyer.Our love is sweet like the ripe grape, which is picked and with which the best wine is made, our relationship was harvested at the best time, our love gives many fruits for the intensity with which we love each other.
It’s finished the effort of both
the consecration has rewarded us
the harvest of love demonstrated
the Eden resulted by spinning our ties.English version, Maria Magdalena Biela
My pretty Rose Tree
POSTED IN classic poetry, Spring April 29, 2018
My pretty Rose TreeA flower was offered to me,
Such a flower as May never bore,
But I said, ‘I’ve a pretty rose tree,’
And I passed the sweet flower o’er.Then I went to my pretty rose tree,
To tend her by day and by night,
But my rose turned away with jealousy,
And her thorns were my only delight.
William Blake
Retrato
POSTED IN classic poetry April 21, 2018
RetratoEu não tinha este rosto de hoje,
assim calmo, assim triste, assim magro,
nem estes olhos tão vazios,
nem o lábio amargo.Eu não tinha estas mãos sem força,
tão paradas e frias e mortas;
eu não tinha este coração
que nem se mostra.Eu não dei por esta mudança,
tão simples, tão certa, tão fácil:
– Em que espelho ficou perdida
a minha face?
Cecilia Meireles
………………………………..
PortraitI didn’t have this face of now,
so resigned, so sad, so wasted,
nor these eyes so empty,
nor the bitter lips.I didn’t have these hands without strength,
so still and cold and dead;
I didn’t have this heart.
that doesn’t even show.I didn’t feel this change,
so simple, so sure, so easy:
In which mirror is lost
my face ?English version,
Bielka
Pożegnanie widoku / Farewell to a lanscape
POSTED IN classic poetry, Spring April 15, 2018
Pożegnanie widoku / Farewell to a lanscapeNie mam żalu do wiosny,
że znowu nastała.
Nie obwiniam jej o to,
że spełnia jak co roku
swoje obowiązki.Rozumiem, że mój smutek
nie wstrzyma zieleni.
Źdźbło, jeśli się zawaha,
to tylko na wietrze.Nie sprawia mi to bólu,
że kępy olch nad wodami
znowu mają czym szumieć.Przyjmują do wiadomości,
że – tak jakbyś żył jeszcze –
brzeg pewnego jeziora
pozostał piękny jak był.Nie mam urazy
do widoku w widok
na olśnioną słońcem zatokę.Potrafię sobie nawet wyobrazić,
że jacyś nie my
siedzą w tej chwili
na obalonym pniu brzozy.Szanuję ich prawo
do szeptu, śmiechu
i szczęśliwego milczenia.Zakładam nawet,
że łączy ich miłość
i że on obejmuje ją
żywym ramieniem.Coś nowego ptasiego
szeleści w szuwarach.
Szczerze im życzę,
żeby usłyszeli.Żadnej zmiany nie żądam
od przyrbrzeżnych fal,
to zwinnych. to leniwych
i nie mnie posłusznych.Niczego nie wymagam
od toni pod lasem,
raz szmaragdowej,
raz szafirowej,
raz czarnej.Na jedno się nie godzę.
Na swój powrót tam.
Przywilej obecności –rezygnuję z niego.
Na tyle Cię przeżyłam
i tylko na tyle,
żeby myśleć z daleka.Wisława Szymborska.
………………………………………………………………………………………….Farewell to a landscape
I have no regrets for spring
came again.
I do not blame it
for fulfilling every year
its duties.I understand that my sadness
will not stop the verdure.
The blade, if it’s swinging,
it’s only in the wind.It’s not saddening me,
that clumps of alder on the water
have a reason to whisper again.I observe
that – as if you were still alive –
the shore of a certain lake
remained as beautiful as it was.I have no bitterness
to look just to see
the sun-drenched bay.I can imagine
some other than us
sitting right now
on a fallen birch stump.I respect their right
to whisper, to laugh
and for happy silence.I assume
that love binds them
and that he embraces her
by a living arm.Some young feathers
rustling in the reeds.
sincerely I wish ,
that they would hear them.I don’t demand any change
from the coastal waves,
now agile , now lazy
and disobeying me.I do not demand anything
from the depths of the forest,
once an emerald,
once sapphire,
once black.I can not agree with one thing.
Coming back there.
The privilege of being present –
I gave up.I survived you enough
and only enough,
to think from a distance.English version, Maria Magdalena Biela
I’m Nobody! Who are you? / Eu sunt Nimeni! Tu esti cine?
POSTED IN classic poetry, Spring, translated English-Romanian April 13, 2018
I’m Nobody! Who are you? / Eu sunt Nimeni! Tu esti cine?
I’m Nobody! Who are you?
Are you – Nobody – too?
Then there’s a pair of us!
Don’t tell! they’d advertise – you know!How dreary – to be – Somebody!
How public – like a Frog –
To tell one’s name – the livelong June –
To an admiring Bog!Emily Dickinson
…………………………………………………………………………………
Eu sunt Nimeni !Tu esti cine ?
Tot – Nimeni – ca si mine?
Suntem pereche deci!
Nu spune! Reclama fac – stii bine!Ce groaznic – sa fii – Cineva!
Public – Broasca la fire –
in Iunie – sa strigi un nume
si-o Balta sa te-admire!Translated, Maria Magdalena Biela
How many flowers fail in Wood / Cate Flori prin Padure cad
POSTED IN classic poetry, Spring, translated English-Romanian March 25, 2018
How many Flowers fail in Wood –
How many flowers fail in Wood –
Or perish from the Hill –
Without the privilege to know
That they are Beautiful –How many cast a nameless Pod
Upon the nearest Breeze –
Unconscious of the Scarlet Freight –
It bear to Other Eyes –Emily Dickinson
…………………………………………….
Cîte Flori prin Pădure cad-
Ori de pe Deal pier crunt –
Făr-a-vea dreptul de a sti
Cat de frumoase sunt –Si cate anonime coji
Se pierd in Vant ruina-
Uitand de Rosia Samanta –
A Altor Ochi lumina –
Translated by Maria Magdalena Biela
A word is dead / Cuvantu-i dus
POSTED IN classic poetry, Spring, translated English-Romanian March 25, 2018
A word is deadA word is dead
When it is said
Some day.I say it just
Begins to live
That day.Emily Dickison
………………………………. ………
Cuvantu-i dus
Îndat’ ce-i spus
Candva.Eu cred c-abia
Atunci ‘si-ncepe
Viata.
Romanian Version,
Maria Magdalena Biela
Elysium is far as to / Elysium departe-i precum
POSTED IN classic poetry, Spring, translated English-Romanian March 25, 2018
Elysium is as far as toElysium is as far as to
The very nearest Room
If in that Room a Friend await
Felicity or Doom-What fortitude the Soul contains
That it can so endure
The accent of a coming Foot-
The opening of a Door-Emily Dickinson
……………………………… ………………
Elysium departe-i precum
Odaia de alaturi.
In Ea așteaptă un Om bun
Fericiri sau Framanturi.Ce forta Sufletul cuprinde
Că poate îndura
Calcatul unui Pas ce vine-
Usa a descuia- –Romanian version,
Maria Magdalena Biela
Because I could not stop for Death – / Cum Moartea nu putui s-astept –
POSTED IN classic poetry, translated English-Romanian March 14, 2018
Because I could not stop for Death – / Cum Moartea nu putui s-astept
Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me –
The Carriage held but just Ourselves –
And Immortality.We slowly drove – He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility –We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess – in the Ring –
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –
We passed the Setting Sun –Or rather – He passed Us –
The Dews drew quivering and Chill –
For only Gossamer, my Gown –
My Tippet – only Tulle –We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground –
The Roof was scarcely visible –
The Cornice – in the Ground –Since then – ’tis Centuries – and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses’ Heads
Were toward Eternity –Emily Dickinson
……………………………… ……………………
Cum moartea nu putui sa-astept –
M-astepta ea, prea buna –
Trasura-i ne-avea doar pe noi –
Cu vecia-mpreuna.Mergeam usor – nu pas grabit
Iar eu lasai deoparte
Munca-mi si zilnicul ragaz,
Spre-a Ei Civilitate –Lasaram scoala, cu Copii
Luptand – insufletit –
Lasaram Campurile-aurii –
Soarele-n asfintit –Mai bine zis – El ne-a lasat –
Fior de roua rece –
Subtire rochia-mi era –
Simteam frigul cum trece –Ne-opriram lang-o casa ce
Parea ca o movila –
Acoperisul nevazut –
Cornisa in Argila –De-atunci – sunt Secole – si tot
Pare o Zi menit
Mereu simtii ca acei Cai
Mergeau spre Infinit –Romanian Version,
Maria Magdalena Biela
Rest in peace, dear Professor!
POSTED IN classic poetry, Spring March 14, 2018
Rest in peace!May HE rest in peace! Now HE knows is there a God or black wholes? A Man who proved that Life conquers all…
The brighest star just died…
Stephen Hawking, the brilliant British theoretical physicist who overcame a debilitating disease to publish wildly popular books probing the mysteries of the universe, has died, according to a family spokesman. He was 76.
Considered by many to be the world’s greatest living scientist, Hawking was also a cosmologist, astronomer, mathematician and author of numerous books including the landmark “A Brief History of Time,” which has sold more than 10 million copies.
With fellow physicist Roger Penrose, Hawking merged Einstein’s theory of relativity with quantum theory to suggest that space and time would begin with the Big Bang and end in black holes. Hawking also discovered that black holes were not completely black but emit radiation and would likely eventually evaporate and disappear.“A star just went out in the cosmos,” Lawrence Krauss, a theoretical physicist and cosmologist, “We have lost an amazing human being.”
Hawking suffered from ALS, a neurodegenerative disease commonly known as Lou Gehrig’s Disease, which is usually fatal within a few years. He was diagnosed in 1963, when he was 21, and doctors initially only gave him a few years to live.
The disease left Hawking wheelchair-bound and paralyzed. He was able to move only a few fingers on one hand and was completely dependent on others or on technology for virtually everything — bathing, dressing, eating, even speech.
Hawking used a speech synthesizer that allowed him to speak in a computerized voice with an American accent.
“I try to lead as normal a life as possible, and not think about my condition, or regret the things it prevents me from doing, which are not that many,” he wrote on his website.
“I have been lucky that my condition has progressed more slowly than is often the case. But it shows that one need not lose hope.”Blessed be!
